Thoughts of you
by laced-with-fire
Summary: One shots of what Athos and Milady might be thinking on the occasions they encounter each other.
1. Firing Squad

**Don't really tend to do one shots but thought I'd give it a go.**

**Musketeers not mine, I'm just borrowing them then I'll put them back :-)**

* * *

She sees him there from her hiding place in the tower and the chains binding his hands give her a malicious thrill. She raises her hand to her throat, brushing the ribbon that hides the scar.

_Now, my love, the reckoning has come._

They chain him to the wall and the early morning light catches the locket that still hangs against his chest, she remembers that locket and in her minds eye sees the flower carefully pressed inside.

The soldiers take aim, preparing to finish him. He looks at them and she sees a small trace of fear in his eyes before they close.

_How disappointing, you couldn't watch me hang and now you can't watch your own death._

His breathing quickens as he waits for the crack of the muskets that will end his misery. She feels her heart pounding, finally her revenge will be complete with his disgrace and death. Her breathing almost becomes ragged with excitement as she waits to see his blood flow.

"Come on, damn you, shoot." He grows impatient, and she wonders why they haven't fired.

"Hold your fire..." Her eyes widen in dismay as his two musketeer friends make their way down the stairs, smirking as they brandish the order for his release. The boy from the inn is with them; d'Artagnan and she sees him nod in gratitude as he passes the boy on the stairs.

She feels angry and deprived as her revenge slips from her grasp. It was perfect, it should have worked. Her eyes narrow as she watches him leave. Alive for another day but no matter, she will see him dead and if she has to drive a blade through his heart herself then she will.

_One day, my love, one day._

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**Well what do you think?**


	2. Flames - Milady

**Musketeers not mine, just borrowing :-)**

* * *

Steeling herself against the memories she steps through the door. Vaguely she notices the signs of people as she moves through the rooms but pays no heed. She holds out the torch; watching with satisfaction as the old curtains catch light, the flames leaping hungrily up the rich fabric.

_There, my love; this will truly turn us to history_

She moves quickly through the cursed rooms, holding the torch to anything that might catch light. She is mindful that the house is burning fast; soon it will not be safe to stay. Yet at the same time she feels a thrill as she watches the flames devour the ancestral home of the man she once loved and she wants to watch from the heart of it.

_Enough_

She can't stay or she will burn; a fate she intends to avoid. Being hanged was unpleasant enough.

She turns and moves back through the rooms; it is time to go. Smoke is filling the air and through the roar of the flames she fancies she can almost hear someone coughing.

Movement catches her eye and she turns; she is shocked to see him, but not as shocked as he is. It is almost amusing to see the confusion on his face. It might be comical if it wasn't also for the horror in his eyes.

_Eyes that once only held love and desire for me_

"You're dead." The volume of wine he has drunk is clear in his voice, his eyes and every movement.

She mocks him; enjoying telling him how she survived and the look in his eyes when she pulls down the ribbon at her throat. When he runs at her it is almost pitiful to watch; she steps aside easily and watches as he hits the wall.

When she swings the torch, catching him across the face she feels a savage glee. She gazes at him as he sprawls on the floor; dazed, confused and drunk.

_Now you are truly in my power_

"It's right should die with this house." She crouches next to him, ready to spill his blood. As he speaks her anger rises and she presses the knife against the pale skin of his throat. Suddenly she can't and she gazes at the house as it burns.

"Anne." He whispers her name and reaches for her, pressing his face against her. She almost doesn't realise what she is doing as her fingers move to his hair, running through it automatically and she buries her face in it for a moment, inhaling his scent mixed with smoke.

She feels the moment of weakness and steels herself once more, pushing him away from her and pressing the knife against him. A glint of metal catches her eye and she reaches out, her fingers grasping the locket she knows so well. She hears his plea for death as she opens the locket and gazes at the flower she so lovingly pressed.

_Not like this, God help me, I can't_

"Athos." She hears the boys' voice through the flames and runs, there is not time to kill him now. Perhaps if she leaves him here he will choke or burn.

As she rides away she sees the boy run into the house. She gasps for breath trying to steady herself; she can still feel him in her arms and smell the familiar scent of him. As much as she hates him for what he did there is a part of her that still loves him, desires him.

_Next time, my love I will not be so weak. You will die by my hand yet._

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**Well let me know what you think. Next one will be trying to get inside Athos' head during the fire :-)**


	3. Flames - Athos

**Here we go, trying to get inside Athos' head during the fire.**

**Musketeers not mine, just borrowing.**

* * *

When he opens the doors the only solid thought in his mind is that he wants to forget. He has felt her since they first came back to this cursed place; he sees her in every room as his memories flood to the surface and her voice resounds in his head. He feels the heart he has long closed off as it calls out her name again and again.

_Anne_

He stumbles through the rooms, already unsteady on his feet. It does not take him long to find the crates of wine still stacked neatly where they were left. He grasps the nearest crate and carries it to the dining room, his fingers fumbling with the cork. He pours it into the glass and gulps it down, not tasting it, not caring. It becomes a cycle; refill, drink, refill, drink. He cannot drink fast enough and almost chokes.

_Please just let me forget_

He stares at the portraits, not needing to raise the torn canvas to see the face he remembers so well.

_Anne_

His own portrait stares back at him, the picture of nobility and it fills him with rage. He hurls the bottle and the wine runs down the picture like blood.

_Thomas' blood, her blood._

He picks up another bottle, wondering if this time he can drink himself to death.

He wakes to the sharp smell of smoke and hauls himself to his feet, the sting in the back of his throat telling him that he is not dreaming and not yet dead. He coughs as he stumbles through the rooms, moving towards where the smoke is thickest.

_Fire_

He stares at the burning room, his mind too clouded with wine for him to comprehend what is happening. It is then that he hears footsteps and turns. There, glaring at him is the last person he ever expected to see again.

_Anne_

"You're dead." Not his most eloquent statement he will admit but at the moment it is all he is capable of.

Everything about her is as he remembers; she is beautiful, proud and strong. Yet she is also different; cold, her eyes are cruel and her tone mocking.

He fights his mind, forcing it to comprehend what is happening and what she tells him. When she pulls the ribbon from her throat, showing the mark that his justice left it is almost too much.

_I turned her into this_

He runs at her, not certain what he would do if he caught her. He barely feels the impact as he hits the wall but he certainly feels it when she swings the torch; catching him across the cheek with the burning brand. He sprawls on the floor, only just managing to find the energy to roll over and face her.

_If I am to die here it will not be a knife in the back of the neck_

She crouches next to him, pressing a small blade to his throat. He doesn't fight her; he can't. It is easier instead to tilt his head back and welcome the blade.

_End it, please_

He thinks it, tries to goad her into it with his words. But she doesn't; she stops, her eyes reflecting the flames as she gazes at the house they once shared.

He can't help himself as he moves towards her, pressing his face against her. Through the smoke he can smell her, the familiar jasmine scent flooding his mind.

_I still love her, God help me_

He feels her hand running through his hair and remembers her once loving touch; how he has missed her love.

_Love that was a lie_

She pushes him away from her and he waits for the blade, waiting for the cold metal. Instead she fumbles with the locket, gazing at the flower she so carefully pressed. She almost looks as though she might cry.

"Athos." He hears d'Artagnan's voice and watches as her head darts up. She looks at him once more and runs. He lays in the smoke as his house burns around him, not sure if he is unabe to move or unwilling.

The Gascon pulls him from the flames and in the moments that follow he pours out his heart to the boy. Everything he has kept hidden that no one else knows but wine and grief loosen his tongue.

"What do I do now?" he collapses back onto the grass as the boy watches.

She is alive and she has just tried to kill him, wanting to add his blood to his brothers and that of countless others.

_But, God forgive me, a part of me still loves her_

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**Not sure how well I did there, his head is tricksy to get inside. Let me know what you thought xx**


End file.
